Testing Times
by scribhneoir
Summary: Ron faces a challenge he never expected. One-shot


WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE…

The shrill announcement from the alarm clock was only stopped when it was unceremoniously thrown to the wall and shattered into many tiny pieces. There were a few minutes of blessed silence which Ron enjoyed as he pulled the pillow over his head, before a persistent beeping rudely intruded. He raised his head and opened his eyes in order to glare at the second alarm clock that was deliberately set on the small table at the other side of the room. It was meant to make him actually have to get up to make the noise stop but in this case the beeping was working in tandem with the pounding in his head and made him all the more determined to remain exactly where he was. A well aimed pillow soon silenced the clock as it met its untimely end by hitting the wall on its way to the floor. There was a brief moment of guilt when he realised that that had been a gift from Hermione, before relished the moment of quiet.

Ron flopped over in bed, pulling the covers over him once again and wishing that his head would stop pounding, his stomach would stop swirling and his limbs would lose the lead feeling that had escalated over the past few days. He was shivering despite the fact that the room was roasting hot, the duvet was pulled up to his neck and the sweat was running down his brow. He was sick, there was no denying it, no getting round it. He knew it and had purposely been avoiding his family, Harry and Hemione for the past few days knowing that when they saw him they would insist that he took a few days off, that he stayed at home and got well. But he couldn't do that, couldn't afford to take that time off. But at this very moment, in his feverish state, he wasn't quite sure why.

GET UP NOW! STEALTH AND CONCEALMENT EXAM TODAY! MOVE!! NOW!!

Ron sat up quickly, his duvet falling away as his own voice echoed through the room and the third magical alarm clock buzzed around his head like a relentless golden snitch ducking and diving out of the way of imaginary attempts to get it to shut up. But Ron wasn't interested, he was too busy searching for his robes as it dawned on him why he couldn't take time off right now, why he couldn't afford to be sick, the final stage of the Auror Stealth and Concealment exam was today and if he missed it, he would have to repeat the entire module. No-one really knew what to expect with this exam, they'd been trying to predict its format for months now. Most people were betting on each trainee being expected to hide within plain sight in a typical scenario, or even to go undercover on a simulated mission. He quickly pulled on the robes and stumbled out the door. The alarm clock continued to buzz around the room doggedly doing its job despite the fact that Ron had now left the room.

"Damn it." He stumbled into the bathroom, threw some water on his face and loudly cursed the Auror exam timetable which, legend had it, had been deliberately created to be some kind of endurance test. He had already completed a number of exams over the past few weeks and this was the last one, and he felt like something that had been run over by a Thestral. It was just the flu, he knew that, and he wouldn't let that stop him…not when he'd got this far.

The small cupboard above the sink gave him the various potions he'd been taking over the past few days, and he stopped in the kitchen long enough only to get a couple of slices of toast. His stomach was churning but he knew he had to at least try to eat something. So, he grabbed his cloak from its traditional spot on the floor, scooped his keys from its similar spot , made sure he had his wand and hurriedly made his way out the door of the flat.

He had only taken two steps from the door when he stumbled, a sudden dizziness causing him to brace himself against the wall in a futile attempt to steady himself. Ron knew he was going to hit the ground and could do nothing to stop it. His keys fell from his hand and clattered to the floor as he heard a clinical voice whisper.

"_Ronald, Ronald can you hear me?"_

He shook his head, desperate to dispel the fuzziness that had set in and at least get some help. His fingers scrambled for his wand, but the strength of a hand belonging to another stopped his movement as he felt someone grab his wrist. He struggled, kicking and thrashing about, but the illness and exertions of the last few days had taken its toll and the darkness descended. And the rather obnoxious voice became clearer.

"Ronald, listen to me, concentrate on my voice."

* * *

"Who the hell are you?" Ron glared at the man sitting opposite him, calmly watching him.

"I've told you who I am many times now Ronald, don't you remember?" the overly calm, patient voice was grating on Ron's already frayed nerves. He had woken up in an annoyingly beige room and was desperately trying to get some answers as to his current predicament.

"Tell me again, why don't you?"

"My name is Doctor Westwood…"

"No, who are you really?" Ron was getting increasingly tired of this interminable back and forth between this strange man and the fact that his head was still pounding left him even more impatient.

"Are you still in pain Ronald?" The officious looking man stood and gestured to someone outside the door as he watched Ron pace back and forth the large airy room.

Ron glared at him, "I'm fine." he said as he fidgeted and desperately longed for his wand. He wasn't quite sure what was happening and he wasn't afraid to admit that that was terrifying him. He was convinced that he'd been hexed or, at the very least, the victim of some curse gone awry because he was having trouble focusing, the room occasionally started spinning and every time he had tried to leave the glare of this bright room he had been met with some invisible force that propelled him back to his seat. His only source of information was this man, supposedly a doctor, sitting in front of him. He had to think this through logically, his recent training came to mind very quickly. This was a chess game, pitting his strategic skills against those of another in attempt to gain valuable information. He could do that.

He watched as the Doctor turned away from the door and focused his attention back towards him.

"Why are you keeping me here?"

"Why do you think we are keeping you here?"

"Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to answer a question with another question?"

"You already know the answer Ronald, you just need to accept the truth"

"So humour me then." Ron said with the hint of a smirk across his face. "Tell me what I supposedly already know. Tell me why I'm here"

The Doctor took his glasses from his face, placed them on top of his balding head and sat forward with a sigh. "You're here Ronald, because you're a danger to yourself and others. You're here to get treatment"

The hint of a smirk rapidly disappeared from Ron's face as he listened to the explanation. For the first time he took notice of the white pyjamas that he was wearing, the hospital like nature of the room around him. The short sleeved top he was wearing caught his attention though. The scars that had made him so self conscious for so long, were gone. His gaze was transfixed on the freckled arm and his voice was barely a whisper,

"And what am I supposedly getting treatment for?"

"You've been suffering from delusions Ronald"

* * *

"You're lying." Ron paced across the length of the room, looking at the locked windows, the padlocked door. He glared at the only other person in the room "You are lying to me and I want to know why!" He shoved the chair to the ground and watched as the Doctor didn't even flinch. "I want to know now why I am being kept prisoner and why the hell you are lying to me!"

"Ronald, take some deep breaths and think things through. Are you so clear about what is truth and what is a lie?"

And the thing was, Ron wasn't quite so sure. His mind was filled with images that were strange and yet familiar at the same time. And as he continued to try to make sense of the jumble of images bombarding his mind, he could still hear the voice.

"Think of your family and friends Ronald. They were here to visit you just yesterday, remember? They just want you to get well."

The memories of many awkward visiting times flitted through his mind, walking the line between reality and fantasy. He could see his mother wringing her hands nervously and then sobbing on his father's shoulder. He could see Hermione trying to look strong in the face of something she had no answer for. Harry looked nervous and worried as he sat in the same chair the Doctor now sat in. He shook his head, desperate to make sense of what was happening.

"No, there's some kind of spell involved here, there has to be." he looked around desperately. "Where's my wand?" he turned with an accusatory glare at the doctor who had retrieved his glasses from their perch and was now cleaning them on the edge of his white coat.

"Now Ronald, we've been through this before, there is no such thing as magic."

"You're lying."

"Now, Ronald, why…."

"YOU'RE LYING!" Ron yelled as he resumed his pacing around the room flinching as mere ghosts of memories assaulted him. He could see Hogwarts in his mind, could feel the power of spells as he cast them, he could remember the satisfaction of being able to help to protect those he cared for. Memories of trains and spiders, dragon, giants and flying cars flickered through his mind. He remembered magic being used for evil, taking those he cared or, attacking them all.

But, different memories gained strength and muscled their way into his mind. He remembered watching television, going to the cinema, sitting in a muggle school. The memories of magic, of who he was…of home were being trampled upon by these strange thoughts and yet confusion reigned. And the pain rattled through his mind.

"You're not sure, are you Ronald?"

"Let me talk to my family."

"Now, Ronald, you know…."

"Let me talk to Harry or Hermione, now!"

"Ronald, if you don't calm yourself I'm afraid we'll have to restrain and sedate you again and I'm sure you don't want that"

There was silence in the room as both men faced up to each other. It was all Ron could do not to take a swing at the man, but he knew that would solve nothing in the grand scheme of things. He took slow, steady step forward and was gratified to see the smaller man take a step backwards and the flash of uncertainty in his usually passive features. But the flash of pain that pierce his temples caused him to break eye contact and concentration. He whirled away from the smaller man, desperate to control the pain and held his head in his hands.

The pain wouldn't stop. It was growing in intensity with each breath he took and wasn't stopping with his head. The pains that he had woken with that morning were returning to him in full and he struggled to catch his breath. It was the sound of movement in the room that made him look up. The Doctor was edging towards the door, uncertainty and a cetain degree of trepiataion marking his face.

"Going somewhere Doctor?" Distain laced Rons words as he took his hands from his face. The Doctor's answer was lost however as Ron watched in amazement as familiar marks began to reappear around his arms. Tendrils of purple and red laced and wrapped around his arm and a smile graced his face. He stood up straight, turned to face the man who was watching him almost expectantly.

"You're lying."


End file.
